


Field And A River

by Haicrescendo



Series: Carry On For You [11]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Zuko is trying his best, and zuko will be his teacher, his best is not that great, it does not go as expected, jet the garbage man, jet will learn to use his listening ears, oops it’s definitely child abuse, oops it’s definitely harassment, rehabilitation of people and pokemon, the author would die for flareon, the long awaited emotional clue-by-four, uncle will help too, we finally get that fun match!, you know that shit got real when uncle makes coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23464597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [It’s barely seven in the morning when there’s a pounding on the door to Vulca’s gym.Zuko waits a few minutes to see if Uncle gets it (he doesn’t), and eventually drags himself out of bed. It’s early enough that the junior trainers aren’t here and the gym is deserted. Zuko hopes that they go away.They don’t, and the knocking continues.Zuko slides open the door.“Hi there,” Jet tells him with a grin.Zuko slides the door shut without a word.]Or,An unpleasant reunion, a little more trauma for everyone, and someone gets hit with the feels stick.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Carry On For You [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013
Comments: 407
Kudos: 2837





	Field And A River

**Author's Note:**

> SO UHHHH YEAH. That little change in relationship tags? That’s a thing. Nobody should be surprised by this.
> 
> As always, if you enjoyed this, please leave me a comment and let me know! You can always scream at me on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

It’s barely seven in the morning when there’s a pounding on the door to Vulca’s gym.

Zuko waits a few minutes to see if Uncle gets it (he doesn’t), and eventually drags himself out of bed. It’s early enough that the junior trainers aren’t here, and the gym is deserted. Zuko hopes that they go away.

They don’t, and the knocking continues.

Zuko slides open the door.

“Hi there,” Jet tells him with a grin.

Zuko slides the door shut without a word.

“Hey! Open up, dickhead, I’ve got legitimate business!” Zuko’s halfway up the stairs to go back to bed when Jet starts hollering again. He sighs, returns to the door, and slides it back open.

“ _What?”_

Jet shoves his trainer card in his face. Seven brightly colored, sparkling badges decorate the appropriate spaces.

“I’m here to challenge you for your badge.”

Zuko stares him down flatly.

“Bullshit.”

Jet grins.

“Nope,” he says, loudly popping the p. “And if I know league rules, and I’m pretty sure that I do, you’re obligated to accept my challenge. You’re not afraid to fight me, are you? I mean, now that you’re a proper big shot gym leader and all.”

“Wait.”

Zuko slides the door shut in his face again and proceeds to send a scathing, incredulous voice message to Toph about being beaten recently and not being told about it. There might also be a slight amount of judgement on just _who_ she let beat her. He doesn’t care if she’s sleeping; she deserves this.

He opens the door again.

“You’re right that I’m obligated to accept your challenge,” he grumbles, “But I’m in charge of when. I’ll battle you at a decent hour, in, like, two hours.” This is bullshit. Zuko hasn’t even had coffee yet. Foxglove’s probably still asleep on his pillow.

“I’ll be here at nine, then,” Jet says. 

Zuko tries to shut the door on him again but Jet’s learned, and blocks it with his arm. He leans in, grinning and too familiar, into Zuko’s space.

“You look good,” he says, “I missed you.”

“Bullshit,” Zuko repeats with a scowl, “You didn’t miss shit. I’ll see you at nine.”

This time when he shuts the door, he locks it behind him and goes back upstairs to bed in silence. Sleeping isn’t going to happen at this point, he knows, and spends a few minutes stroking Foxglove’s warm, fluffy side. She flicks an ear at him, still sleeping contentedly, and curls around his head when he reclaims a solid third of his pillow.

“I’m going to beat him into next week,” Zuko mumbles at her and gets a paw in his eye for his trouble. 

* * *

Zuko walks out of the gym at 8:55, mug of coffee in his hand. He’s refusing to get dressed for this and has elected to stay in his pajamas, despite the borderline judgemental stare he gets from Uncle on his way out. He’s not sure whether the judgement is for the coffee or his clothing.

Jet is too annoying to deal with in anything but joggers.

When he sees him, Jet jumps to his feet.

“Gym Leader Zuko, I challenge—“

“It’s not nine yet and I'm still drinking,” Zuko says flatly. “Sit down.” He takes a loud, noisy swig of his coffee.

“You haven’t changed, have you?” Jet asks. “Still rude and still a tightass.”

The last time Zuko saw Jet, he was rolling furiously around on the forest floor after being tied up for not being able to take a hint. Present Zuko still firmly believes that Past Zuko had the right idea.

“Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Changed.”

Jet goes quiet and considering, drops the flirty, sleazy act and really looks at him.

“I’d like to think so,” he says, finally. “I was mad at you for a really long time, after what you did to me. Almost went after you but didn’t want to get tied up and left for dead again.”

“I didn’t leave you for dead,” Flies out of Zuko’s mouth before he can pull it back, and he’s mad at himself for even engaging in this. “You got out of it fine. Clearly.”

“You still left me.”

“You wouldn't listen to me.” Zuko doesn’t hate Jet. He doesn’t really have it in him to hate him. Even back then, there wasn’t hatred but there was definitely fear, especially in the wake of discovering Ozai’s connections. Zuko’s always been a little bit afraid of people who so easily lose control. “What are you even doing here?”

Jet grins at him.

“Maybe I just wanna be a pokémon master. Maybe I’m here for my diabolical revenge on you.” He waggles his fingers at him for emphasis, and Zuko scowls. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to see you again.”

“I don’t believe any of those,” Zuko tells him. “You’re going through a lot of trouble if _that’s_ what you’re after.”

“Would you have seen me otherwise?”

Zuko doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t need to; they both know what it would be.

Zuko checks his phone. It’s nine am.

He gets to his feet and nods to Jet, stoic and frosty.

The other boy gets up and tosses a pokeball in the air, grins broadly.

“Gym Leader Zuko,” he says with a flourish, “I challenge you to a battle for the badge of the Vulca Islands.”

Zuko’s face doesn’t so much as twitch as he replies, “On behalf of Vulca’s gym, I accept your challenge.”

* * *

“Shit.”

Zuko throws Jet a bundle of revives and recalls Foxglove.

“Heal your pokémon and be on your way,” he says quietly. “Did you get what you wanted?”

Jet’s hands on Longshot are gentle as he applies the revive, and he doesn’t answer until his Pokémon’s eyes open.

“Maybe,” he says, finally. “Maybe I did.” And then he looks up sharply, and one side of his lips tilts up in a funny, crooked smile. “Or maybe I didn’t.” He looks Zuko up and down. “Nice shirt.”

Zuko’s t-shirt is from Jee and Teruko’s curry shop. They gave it to him when he came back and started eating there regularly, and it’s soft and too big and he sleeps in it. He scowls and waves in the direction of the door, leading back out to the street.

“Go.”

Jet goes.

* * *

Jet shows up the next morning at nine on the dot.

Zuko beats him again.

* * *

He shows up the next day, bright and early.

Zuko beats him.

* * *

“Why do you keep doing this?” Zuko growls after his fourth win. He’s annoyed and he’s frustrated at the pointlessness of it. It’s not like Jet can even improve by showing up every day like this. His team doesn’t change and neither does his strategy. There’s no real victory in a win without a challenge—it rings hollow and meaningless and empty.

It’s like he’s trying to be enraging on purpose.

“I told you,” Jet says, recalls Smellerbee with a sigh, “Maybe I just wanted to see you again.”

“Just—just _stop_ , okay? Just stop,” Zuko snaps, exasperated. “You and I both know that you wouldn’t go to all this trouble just for that.” 

Jet sits down in the dirt and stares up into the sky. Zuko remains standing, arms crossed firmly over his chest.

“I saw you once,” he says suddenly after a minute or two of silence. “On tv, you know, right after everything went down. With your dad.”

Zuko slowly starts to freeze. Jet doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care, and keeps talking.

“And then all your shady shit kind of made sense, you know?”

“...I’m going to hog tie you and leave you in the woods again.”

“They kept asking you all these questions, and you looked like you couldn't decide whether you were gonna start crying or set everyone on fire. Maybe both.” Jet says, “And you were _gorgeous_.”

Zuko digs the toe of his shoe in the dirt to mark a deep line between them. His stomach twists unhappily. It _sounds_ like a compliment and maybe Jet genuinely means it to be, but it doesn’t feel like one.

“You need to go,” he tells him firmly. “I’m busy the next few days, so don’t show up. Figure out what you’re really doing here, so our next battle can be our last one.”

Jet drags himself off of the ground and leaves without another word.

* * *

  
  


“H’llo?” Sokka mumbles into his phone when it rings, voice thick and muffled from being halfway into a nap. He doesn’t check to see who’s called but it’s clear when the voice on the other end clears their throat.

“Is this, uh, a bad time?”

“Nah,” Sokka says, rolling over. He’s spending a few days at home but Dad’s out, and he’s not busy. “What’s up? We still good for tomorrow?”

He hopes they’re still good for tomorrow, because cancelling his ferry ticket at this point will be a massive pain. Zuko’s got a lot of different kinds of silences but without seeing his face, Sokka’s not entirely sure what kind this is.

Better to be safe than sorry.

“Are you okay?”

“...Yeah, I’m okay,” Zuko answers him after a few moments of stagnant quiet, “Just making sure you’re still coming tomorrow.”

Sokka texted him when he booked his ferry _and_ sent him about a text this morning about it, so Zuko knows full well that he’s coming tomorrow. He frowns but prefers Zuko’s misplaced insecurity over the disappearing act he pulls sometimes when he gets in over his head.

“Yep,” Sokka says. “Definitely still coming tomorrow.” A pause. “Are you sure you’re okay? Not that I mind talking to you, but I feel like this could have been a text, not a phone call.”

“I’ve been having a weird couple of days,” Zuko answers eventually, sounding vaguely unfocused, like he’s petting one of his pokémon. “There’s this guy—“

“A _guy_?” Sokka sputters. “What kind of guy?”

“Not like that, idiot,” Zuko grumbles, “Like...I guess I knew him at one point but we were never really close, and he showed up again recently. I never thought I’d see him again and didn’t really want to. I guess it’s got me off my bearings.”

Look at Zuko, _using his words_. Sokka’s so proud he could cry. Not really, of course, but the urge to tease him about it is there and he mercilessly squashes it down.

“We did some traveling together before I took over Vulca’s gym and didn’t really part on great terms.”

“Is he your friend?”

“...I. I don’t think he is. He’s tenacious and just shoves himself in wherever he wants, and doesn’t know how to mind his own business, and flirts with everything that walks. I’ve battled him _four days in a row_ and he won’t take a hint.” The longer Zuko talks the more worked up he gets, until all the stoicism in his voice is gone and replaced with annoyance and an undercurrent of stress. With every word that comes out of him, it’s clear that it’s bothering him more than he wants to admit to. “I don’t even think he really wants my badge.”

“What’s he want, then?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko admits.

“If he doesn’t want your badge and he doesn’t want your friendship, maybe he just wants your attention. Katara told me about a dude she and Aang met on the road kind of like that. He really had her going, too, until she realized he just wanted her and Aang in on his vendetta.”

Zuko doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even breathe.

Until, “His name wasn’t Jet, was it?”

“You know, it totally was? I never met the guy except one time on a video call and oh man. He was a piece of work. I can’t believe my guy and your guy have the same name.”

“... _Sokka_.” Zuko’s voice is tight and strained, straddling the line between exasperated and incredulous.

“What?”

“...Nothing.” Zuko sighs a little and Sokka has the feeling that he’s relaxing, probably despite himself. The guy is wound up so tight so much of the time and doesn’t know how to uncoil until he’s forced to. Sokka tries to sound welcoming, even though Zuko’s the one who will be welcoming him back.

“It’ll be nice to see you again,” he offers, and wonders when his life got _weird_. A year ago, if someone had told him that he’d be this tight with a gym leader, Sokka would have laughed them out the front door. If someone had said that that particular gym leader would be _Vulca’s_ notorious gym leader, he’d have laughed until he cried.

He’d seen Zuko on tv once or twice before he’d met him, and in magazines, because how could he not? The media _loves_ a phoenix story, and what was juicier than the champion’s long lost son showing up out of the blue and immediately unseating his sister for Vulca’s gym and actively airing out his own family’s dirty laundry for all and sundry?

What he got was so much weirder, nerdier, and _better_ than he could have imagined.

“I’m looking forward to it.” 

Sokka doesn’t know how Zuko can just inject warmth into his voice like that but he manages, somehow. He doesn’t need to see him to know what his face looks like when he sounds like that, because he knows from experience.

“Thank you,” Zuko says very softly. 

“For what?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

And then Zuko hangs up, _like an asshole_ , without even saying goodbye. 

* * *

Sokka’s had a lot of battles and he certainly watched plenty of ‘fun matches’, but none of them have looked anything like what’s been happening in Vulca’s gym.

Sokka stepped off the ferry, made his way to Vulca’s gym, stopping along the way to grab a few spicy empanadas in a paper sack. It’s been a long boat ride and Sokka may regret this later, but that is going to be Future Sokka’s problem. Present Sokka is going to enjoy his empanadas.

It’s hard to believe that such a happy, cheerful pokémon like Flareon could have any sort of hangups because as soon as Zuko’s opened the door, a fluffy orange blur’s coming at Sokka and tackling him to the ground. Zuko doesn’t even try to rescue him from the overwhelming amount of vaguely-canine love that’s determined to sit on his chest. On the contrary, the gym leader leans on the door frame and soaks in Sokka’s suffering, a quiet, charmed smile on his face. He’s wearing a yellow hoodie that looks like the patterns on a Pikachu, and Sokka bets that if Zuko turns around, the hood will have ears.

“You could help a _little_ ,” Sokka grumbles from the ground. His voice is muffled from trying to spit out Flareon’s fur.

He wants to throw an empanada at him.

Zuko snickers.

“I think you’ve got it under control,” he says, but calls Flareon back to him after a moment, buries his hands in his warm, thick ruff.

Sokka, in the end, doesn’t throw an empanada at him, but shares it with him instead.

Their battle, if one can even call it a battle, is not like any that Sokka’s ever had before. Zuko’s serious about his matches but he’s downright relaxed right now, not even bothering to stand and sitting down in the warm grass outside instead. It wouldn’t be nice to use any water moves when it’s all just for fun but Vaporeon is happy enough to bolt about the yard and roll around for a friendly tussle.

Sokka eventually gives up on any sort of pretense and flops down on the ground next to Zuko.

“You’re being awfully unprofessional,” Zuko says and gives him a vaguely conspiratorial side eye, as if inviting Sokka to share in a private joke. 

“Shut up,” Sokka replies without even looking at him, “You’re the gym leader here. Set a better example. For your poor minions, if not for me.”

“My minions will survive, somehow. Pretty sure they’re mostly here for Uncle and his tea breaks, anyway.”

Sokka knows for a solid fact that that is definitely not true, because more than one of them scatters the moment Zuko enters a room and it’s _not_ because they’re intimidated by him. 

Flareon gives a bright, happy bark and races after Vaporeon, who takes a nosedive into the pond, slyly pops his head out when the other pokémon’s not looking, and spits a little jet of water at him. Flareon yelps.

“Be nice,” Sokka warns. He’s got nothing to worry about, really. Vaporeon is well socialized and plays well with others, and Zuko pays attention but doesn’t look even remotely concerned about it.

Vaporeon races out of the pond and is immediately tackled to the ground. The two of them roll around in the grass and nip at each other’s feet, kicking up dandelion puffs and scraps of plant matter.

“I’d say use tackle or something, but I think he’s way ahead of me,” Zuko says. This time Sokka’s the one to side eye him. And the hood on his jacket, which one hundred percent does have little black-tipped Pikachu ears.

“Reverse battles?” Sokka offers jokingly. “Your pokémon tell you what you do, and you and the other guy duke it out instead.”

Zuko gives a considering sort of hmm under his breath and doesn’t look mad about the idea. Well, this is the dude who regularly shakes up local troublemakers and has admitted to flipping a table at the paparazzi. Sokka’s not surprised that he would like it.

“Excuse me, but you can’t just—“ the voice of one of Zuko’s minions comes into earshot, high and panicked. “Gym Leader Zuko, I’m _so sorry_ —“

Zuko looks up just in time for the doors to slam open with a hard rattle.

A tall, wiry teenage boy stomps through the doors, and _holy shit_ that is totally the guy who tried to give Katara and Aang the runaround.

Zuko looks livid.

“What the fuck,” he snaps, lurching to his feet. At his sharp tone, Flareon stops his roughhousing and abandons his play to press himself against Zuko’s thigh. “I told you that I’m busy today. Challenge rejected, _not_ accepted, go home and come back when I’m ready for you. Better yet, don’t come back at all.”

The guy— _Jet_ , grins.

Sokka wants to beat him up on principle.

“Come on, that’s no fun! Don’t be like that!” He chides, and unclips a pokéball off of his waist. “I made a new friend and just couldn’t wait to show him to you.”

“Wait, hold on—“ Zuko starts and scrambles to recall Flareon before Jet throws, but it’s too late.

There’s a flash of light as Jet’s new pokémon is released from its ball.

There’s a screech, and several things happen at once.

[1] Sokka registers that Jet’s gotten his hands on a Zweilous and takes a quick moment to be unspeakably envious before he remembers the _one_ very important, crucial thing about Zuko’s Flareon.

[2] Zuko makes a frantic, last ditch attempt to grab at his pokémon.

[3] And Flareon _loses his mind._

All Sokka can register is flame and he hits the dirt, has the sense to call Vaporeon to him and drench him with a wave of water, even as it evaporates in air that’s suddenly boiling hot and practically detonating with fire. Zuko’s yelling something, but Sokka can’t hear him over the horrible screaming noise coming out of Flareon’s mouth as the friendly, cheerful fire-type makes an absolutely genuine attempt to murder Jet’s pokémon where it stands.

Jet’s frozen in shock and _useless_. He tries to recall Zweilous but it’s working too hard to avoid teeth and flame to stand still long enough to be brought back and there’s nothing he can do but try and call him back over and be completely ignored.

Just as Sokka’s about to ruin his relationship with Zuko by having Vaporeon wash out the entire gym with surf, the gym leader takes matters into his own hands. Literally.

He grabs Flareon around the middle, scratching claws and biting teeth and fire and all, and bodily throws both of them into the pond.

Zuko breaks the surface almost immediately and hauls Flareon back onto dry land. The pokémon’s helplessly sputtering out little puffs of dark smoke and wheezing, soaking wet and trembling. Zuko whips off his hoodie and wraps it around Flareon’s head to cover his eyes and ears, presses him hard into the dirt with all of his body weight.

Pale and shaken, Jet recalls his pokémon, and Sokka manages to drag himself up out of the dust. The heat’s burned off all of Vaporeon’s water and Sokka recalls him back into his ball with a whispery _thank you._

Zuko’s working on calming Flareon, and it feels like forever before he removes a pokéball off of his hip and touches it very, very gently to his pokémon’s head. Once he’s been recalled, Zuko gets to his feet, and Sokka _hates_ the look on his face.

He looks wrecked and devastated, and all the water in the world can’t cover up the red beginning to rim his eyes.

“Hey, I—I’m sorry,” Jet stammers out. He sees something that Sokka doesn’t, because he throws his hands up and backs up a step. “I didn’t know that that would happen. I couldn’t have known. I didn’t mean—“

Zuko’s reaction to Jet’s voice is both physical and visceral. He goes stiff and coiled as if he’s been struck, and then without a word of warning he’s throwing himself forward to slam Jet into the ground, one hand holding his collar in a death grip and the other making a full force blow into his jaw.

“ _I’ll fucking kill you_ ,” Zuko roars and bloodies Jet’s nose on his second swing. There’s a sharp sound of a crack, “I told you, you _asshole_ , I _told you_ —“ The gym leader’s voice shifts, tips over the edge from uncontrollable rage and into something desolate and hysterical and _hurt,_ “You never _listen_ —“

That’s when Sokka moves, almost without thinking. If it were anyone else, or any other situation, he’d be content enough to let it happen, because the guy _deserves_ those hits he’s getting. Hell, he might even help out with the pummeling. Oh, Sokka would love to get a few punches in for himself. But it’s not for Jet’s sake that he reaches out, grabs Zuko around the shoulders, and forcibly hauls him off of him, drags him backwards.

“You can’t kill him,” Sokka says and doesn’t let him go, despite the fact that Zuko’s fighting just as hard as his pokémon was to draw more blood. “You’ll lose your gym license. I can’t let you do that.” Sokka wraps his arms around him and pulls him in and _holds_ while Zuko shriek-sobs profanity-laced death threats into his collarbone and struggles long enough that Sokka starts to worry…

And then he goes very still.

Sokka shifts away from Jet on the ground holding his face, turning away so if Zuko does manage to lift his head, that’s not who he's going to see. Zuko’s still holding his wet hoodie in his hands and doesn’t fight when Sokka takes it from him and drops the hood over his head to cover him, not entirely unlike the way he’d covered Flareon moments ago. Sokka feels Zuko’s every breath in the way his body heaves, hard and uneven in rage bleeding into silent panic.

If he lets go of Zuko, Sokka doesn’t trust himself enough to keep his hands to himself. Between getting some payback and helping his friend, Sokka knows which is more important.

“You need to go,” Sokka says, very softly and quietly. 

Jet stares at him.

“Get out, _now_ , or I let him go and whatever happens is on you,” he tells him. “If he kills you, I’ll personally make sure they never find your body. No one in this town would breathe a word about it.”

“You’d best listen, young man.”

Sokka jerks, startled, at the sound of Uncle’s voice. He’s never heard him like that, hard and icy and very, very calm. Iroh’s talking to Jet but his focus is fixed solely on Zuko bundled up in Sokka’s grip. Jet scrambles to his feet.

“A warning, before you go.” Uncle says before he takes so much as a step. “Legally, it may be that my nephew may not permanently deny a challenger.” He lifts his head to look Jet in the eyes, and Sokka is _so happy_ that he’s not the focus of that cold, furious stare. “Zuko is not the only trainer authorized to participate in matches in this gym. You should know that, should you return, he will not be the one you face, and I will not _be kind_.”

Jet doesn’t say a word. He does, however, make a break for it, skirting by Uncle looming in the doorway. 

Neither of them move until they hear the sliding sound of the front door shutting with a hard slam, and then silence.

All of Iroh’s rage drips off of him like wet paint.

“I will go start a pot of coffee,” he says quietly, “Please come join me when you’re both ready.” And then he turns and disappears back into Vulca’s gym, leaving Sokka alone with Zuko.

Zuko, who feels like he’s about to shake apart into a thousand pieces if Sokka lets him go. Deep scratches down his arms are bleeding watery red mixed with pond water and there’s a clean, fresh bite in his right hand.

“Hey,” Sokka ducks his head and presses his nose into wet hair, “I’ve got you.”’

“ _I hate him,_ ” Zuko snarls. His voice is furious but Sokka knows, somehow, that he’s definitely on the verge of tears. Rage tears but tears nonetheless. “I _hate_ him.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re in the majority right now, dude.” Sokka rubs his back and gives him a firm squeeze, and feels a rush of relief when Zuko finally lifts his arms to wrap around Sokka’s waist, blood and all. “He shows up again, I think your uncle’s going to light him on fire.”

Zuko muffles a watery laugh into Sokka’s collarbone and finally lifts his head. The wet hoodie slips off and drops into singed grass. His grip is tight.

“What do you need from me right now?”

“Just— just stay,” Zuko finally lets some of the tension drain out of him and he sags. The extra weight makes Sokka lurch for just a second before he adjusts. “You don’t have to do anything special. Just be here.”

“I can do that,” Sokka says. “Dunno if you heard, but Uncle’s making coffee.”

“Oh god, he’s freaking out, then.”

“Pretty sure he just wants to make you happy.”

“No, no, you don’t get it. He only makes coffee when he’s freaking out. Usually because he thinks that _I’m_ freaking out and that I need to calm down.”

Sokka, because he’s a good person and not an asshole, makes the diplomatic decision not to inform Zuko that he kind of _is_ freaking out and that calming down would not necessarily be a bad thing. It seems counterproductive. 

“Do you wanna go inside?”

Zuko shakes his head mutely.

“You’re gonna get cold, though. You’re all wet, dude, and I’m gonna get wet, and then I’ll be cold too. And you’re _bleeding._ ”

“Fuck, sorry—“ Zuko moves like he’s about to squirm out of Sokka’s grip. Sokka rolls his eyes and reels him back in with a snort.

“That’s not what I mean,” he protests, “Just—it’d suck if you were staying out here and getting cold for nothing because you thought you deserved it. Come inside, dry off and clean up, and have some coffee. If your Uncle Iroh makes it half as good as his tea, it’s worth drinking.”

For a moment it doesn’t look like Zuko’s going to agree, and then he sighs, deep and gusty, and peels himself out of Sokka’s arms like it’s something hard to do. He’s soaked Sokka’s whole front and his arms with pond water, and Sokka’s sure that he’s not come out of it unbloodied either.

A breeze blows past them and despite himself, Sokka shivers a little.

Zuko softens.

“...Fine,” he mumbles. “Uncle hates it, but he’s good at coffee.”

The junior trainers have made themselves very scarce on the way to the kitchen. Not all gym leaders live in their gyms (Sokka knows for a fact that Toph doesn’t), but Vulca’s gym splits off from the main area into living quarters that span about half the downstairs and the whole second floor. Sokka’s never been up there but he’s been in the kitchen more than once.

It’s a comfortable space and by the time they get there, Uncle’s already brewed a pot of what smells to be very strong dark coffee.

Zuko downs his offered cup in the span of maybe ten seconds without adding anything to it. Sokka sits down and takes the mug he’s given, watches Zuko turn without a word and make his way up the stairs. Sokka figures that he’s going up to shower or at least change, but he’s wrong, because a little while later, Zuko comes back down with a towel and a dry t-shirt in his hands. His arms and hand are wrapped up in clean, white bandage.

He tosses them in Sokka’s general direction and then, with much more care, removes Flareon’s pokéball off his hip and sets it on the table.

“I’m going to be a while,” he says pointedly, which clearly means more to Iroh than it does to Sokka. “He’ll do better with you than me right now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Zuko sighs. It should by all accounts sound annoyed but it just comes out kind of sad.

“Pokémon are smart but they’re not _human._ He doesn’t know or care why I did it—all he knows is that he trusted me and I hurt him.” The way Zuko says those words, quiet and calm like they’re fact, makes Sokka’s heart twist hard in his chest. “He’s not going to want anything to do with me right now. I’ll be back down later.”

He doesn’t give anyone the chance to say anything else before he’s disappearing back up the stairs. After a few moments, Sokka hears the water start to run and takes that as his cue to escape into the hall bathroom and change into the dry clothes he’d been given. Like everything Zuko tends to wear on his downtime, they’re well worn and soft like they’ve been washed a thousand times. Sokka lets himself, just for a second, tuck his nose into his own collar and breathe in the combination of laundry detergent and _something_ else that’s slowly becoming familiar and almost comforting.

Uncle Iro pushes cream and sugar his way without a word when he comes back and Sokka doctors his coffee as necessary. It’s dark, hot, and very, very good.

“...This isn’t just about Flareon, is it?” he finally asks.

Iroh just watches the inside of his own teacup like it’s fascinating.

“No. No, it’s not.” He looks up and at Sokka’s curious expression, covers his left eye with one of his hands. Sokka’s stomach drops. “He handles it well, but uncontrolled fire still shakes him up.”

_Oh_. Oh, god.

Someone had put fire into Zuko’s face, and he _still_ did what he had to do, all this time later, to put it out. Sokka wouldn’t have blamed him if he hadn’t.

Iroh’s watching him with a soft, unreadable expression.

“He’ll be a little while,” he repeats. “If you wouldn’t mind, please take Flareon and go and relax in the living room, through that door. We could all do with a moment. Do you feel comfortable letting him out? I’ll keep him with me if you don’t. He’ll do better with companionship.”

Sokka reaches out and closes the ball in his hand without a second thought.

Despite it all, and knowing that pokémon are and always can be dangerous, all he can remember is terrified wheezing breaths and the way that Zuko had to force his pokémon down to the ground. He’s not afraid.

The living room is not what Sokka would have expected. The gym is old and dignified, with a lot of history. Sokka would have thought that the living space would be similar. But much like the kitchen it’s bright and lived in, and he only hesitates a little bit before ensconcing himself right in the middle of the large, squashy sectional.

He definitely does not look at any of the framed photos on the side table to see if he can recognize the dark-haired kid with golden eyes and an unscarred face.

Now’s as good a time as any, he decides, and presses the button on Flareon’s ball to release him.

The pokémon pops out and immediately drops flat to the floor, tail tucked tightly between his legs. He’s still a little bit damp and his breathing still doesn’t sound great. When he coughs, little wisps of smoke come out of his mouth.

Sokka wants to _cry_.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, very gently, and pats the cushion next to him. “Hi, friend. You want to come hang out up here with me? It’s okay,” he croons, “You’re fine. It’s all okay. Come up here, it’s alright. No one’s gonna be mad at you.” He pats the cushion again.

Flareon wants to come up—Sokka can see it in the way he watches his hands— but doesn’t move. Sokka doesn’t think that pushing too hard works well with frightened people and he’s pretty sure it’s the same with pokémon, so instead of trying harder he takes out his phone and starts browsing his social media and texting Katara.

He doesn’t look up from his screen, and for several long minutes, nothing happens.

And then, finally, there’s movement out of the corner of his eye and Sokka sees Flareon slowly, very slowly, start to inch his way closer to the couch. He makes his body language relaxed and inviting and doesn’t coax him closer, even though he’d like to.

It feels like it takes forever for Flareon to put his paws on the cushion and even longer for him to jump up onto the couch but once he does, he’s creeping his way into Sokka’s lap, squeezing the rest of his body between Sokka and the arm of the couch.

Sokka is incapable of ignoring him when that happens and immediately reaches out to touch, buries his fingers in thick fur. He can feel trembles run through the pokémon’s bones.

Flareon whines, a raspy note that doesn’t sound normal.

“It’s okay, buddy; it’s okay,” Sokka keeps up a constant, soothing litany of nonsense until the awful whining stops and Flareon’s tail untucks. It wags the tiniest bit.

Sokka fiddles with the remote control for the tv and ends up on some sort of baking show—pleasant and easy to watch without having to pay attention too much.

The judges are complaining about a baker’s bread being underproved and overworked an entire episode and a half in when footsteps can finally be heard coming down the stairs. 

Sokka manages to not leap to his feet the moment Zuko enters the room, mostly because the pokémon in his lap has gone tense and anxious. Zuko’s expression drops and goes immediately flat. Sokka decides to employ the same tactic as he did with Flareon: he turns back to the tv and ignores him entirely, letting him take the time to get himself together and figure out what he wants to do. 

And in a nearly perfect mirror of his pokémon, Zuko eventually approaches the sofa, gingerly sitting down a good three feet away. He’s the only person in the world who could look so tense and stressed out while dressed in a cozy pair of knee-length joggers and an oversized hoodie.

“What, you don’t like us anymore?” Sokka teases him but gently, rubbing at Flareon’s ears. 

Zuko’s not even looking at him right now because he’s only got eyes for his pokémon, and he knows that Zuko can hear the uncomfortable rattle of his breath and the way he’s still occasionally huffing out smoke.

“Is he gonna be alright?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, so quiet he’s nearly whispering. “Time and rest. It’s not...what I did was not...ideal. For him, health wise. There’s precautions you take, with fire types, to protect them when you have to get them wet.” Precautions that he didn’t have time to take, is what Zuko doesn’t say, but Sokka hears it anyway. It’s annihilating in a different way to hear that, because Zuko _knows_ that Sokka has water types, and trusted him enough to know that he wouldn’t be using them in ways that could injure. 

Maybe if he’d trusted him a little less, this wouldn’t have gone so badly.

Flareon’s wagging tail has gone still.

Zuko keeps his eyes firmly on the tv. His jaw is tightly clenched and his hands dig into the fabric at his thighs.

On tv, the bread is good this time.

Slowly, Zuko stretches out a hand towards his pokémon until he’s in touching range and then no further. He’s doing his best to keep his feelings to himself but not doing a great job. Sokka doesn’t know how it has to feel to hurt your pokémon on purpose, even if it was necessary, but he can imagine. He thinks about how it would feel to have had to do something like that to Vaporeon and immediately wishes that he hadn’t. It feels _awful_.

Zuko looks like he feels awful.

Sokka keeps his eyes on the tv.

“I’m sorry, baby,” is what finally comes out of Zuko’s mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” He doesn’t say _I didn’t mean to hurt you._ “I’m so sorry.” He sounds like he’s going to start crying.

He doesn’t.

All of them are silent for a very long time. Zuko’s pretending to watch tv but watching Flareon instead, and Sokka’s pretending to watch tv but watching Zuko. The older boy worries his lip between his teeth.

“You’re thinking.” Sokka bumps Zuko with his shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really hoping that I won’t get a call from the League in a couple of days. Gym leaders aren’t allowed to beat up their challengers, no matter how annoying or liable to get themselves killed they are. If he reports me—“

“He won’t,” Sokka says with the certainty of someone who has read that rule book more than once, “He _can’t_. Not unless he wants to admit to League officials that he didn’t wait for declaration/acceptance of his challenge. Throwing out a pokémon without even declaring? You’d get a slap on the wrist at most; he’d risk losing his license if they found that out. That’s a _major_ violation, along with just being a dick. In fact…” Sokka trails off for a moment, “You rejected his challenge outright and he still threw. That’s assault, man. He wouldn’t be able to set foot in a gym for at least three years, if ever; no way he’d risk it.”

Zuko _stares_ at him.

“What?” Sokka can’t help the note of defensiveness that creeps into his voice at Zuko’s blatant surprise. “I know the rules. I’m not a _total_ meathead.”

Zuko blinks and shakes his head.

“I don’t think you’re a meathead. I just—“ he struggles for the right words and then gives up. “I’m not surprised that you know what you’re talking about. Just...I’m not used to having people go to bat for me.”

“Dude, we’re friends. That’s what friends do. Don’t make me list off all the nice crap you’ve done for me. I’ll do it and embarrass both of us. Just—let me be your friend. Okay?”

“...Okay.”

“Hey,” Sokka mumbles and lifts his arm to the back of the couch in invitation. “C’mere?”

Zuko tips into him like his strings have been cut and fits himself into the curve that Sokka leaves for him. He doesn’t try and touch Flareon but drops his entire weight into Sokka’s side instead, propping his feet up on the cushion. Sokka, despite it all, feels warm and comfortable and needed. He’s always had a weakness for being needed, but this is a different kind of need than the ones that have steered him wrong in the past. Sokka knows full well that he’s only allowed to take the liberties that he can because Zuko _lets_ him.

He’s always liked being needed, but that’s always come secondary to being wanted, and even that doesn’t come close to the feeling of being _trusted_.

Zuko extends his hand over Sokka’s stomach to rest his fingers by Flareon’s face. He doesn’t move closer except to tilt his head to lean his cheek against the soft-washed fabric of Sokka’s t-shirt, golden eyes fixed firmly on the baking escapades on the tv.

After what feels like an eternity, Flareon stretches out his head to nose at Zuko’s fingertips and gives them a tentative lick. His tail starts wagging again.

And then it’s like all of Zuko’s tension drains out of him with his next loud, shaky exhale. He drops down to cradle Flareon’s face in both of his hands, tipping his head to press a kiss to the top of the pokémon’s soft, fluffy head. Sokka’s arm goes with him and stays, curled over his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” Zuko says, voice soft and quiet in that way that Sokka realizes has become almost familiar. It’s warm and affectionate, his ‘talking to pokémon’ voice, and it isn’t entirely like his normal, not-yelling speaking voice. And it _is_ familiar, Sokka realizes with a start, because he hears it all the time. 

...Maybe it’s _not_ just his ‘talking to pokémon’ voice.

Something clicks, very suddenly, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

That’s not just Zuko’s ‘talking to pokémon’ voice, because he uses that particular tone when he talks to Sokka, too.

Then, all Sokka can do is stare, spellbound, down at Zuko coaxing his pokémon out of the corner of the couch to come closer and stretch out over both of them. His voice and hands are so gentle that if Sokka didn’t know, he never would have guessed that those same hands had ever been capable of violence.

Zuko is a book of constant contradictions; he’s got no patience for people but endless amounts for his pokémon, with a tolerance (and lack of tolerance) for bullshit to match. He’s so strong but at the same time, unexpectedly breakable. He’s loud and shouty and temperamental, but turns it off immediately the moment that somebody flinches. He acts hard and tough and prickly but he’s giving, and generous, and doesn’t always recognize when sometimes people might want to give back.

He’s not always nice but he’s one of the _kindest_ people that Sokka has ever met. 

...oh.

_Oh_.

The revelation is like a crash of ocean water over Sokka’s head.

_Oh._

He stares at Zuko, his heart pounding, and feels very suddenly like he’s going to burst into flame.

Zuko doesn’t see the look of shock that flashes over Sokka’s face. He’s too busy speaking quietly to Flareon to notice what, to Sokka, feels like a life changing shift in existence as he knows it.

Sokka’s always fallen fast for people, on boys and girls both, gotten crushes as quickly as an oncoming summer shower and lost them just as fast. He’s never had such a thing creep up on him like this before, so slowly that he didn’t even notice it happening.

Sokka’s crush on Yue was never going to go anywhere but it had always felt overwhelming and huge, like it was too big to fit inside him. Suddenly, despite the fact that nothing had changed, she had been glowing and bright and beautiful. He had never really known her in a way that mattered, but his heart had taken off running anyway.

This feels different.

It _is_ different, because he _knows_ Zuko. There’s no pedestal to put him up on because he’s already seen him at his worst, seen him hot-tempered with rage and brought low and drowning. Seeing the bad things hasn’t changed anything about anything. 

They’re just things that _are_.

Sokka’s so stuck in his own head that he jerks in surprise when Zuko sits back up, nearly whacking him in the chin with the back of his head. Flareon’s stretched out contentedly over the two of them, and Zuko doesn’t seem too inclined to move, but he nevertheless tilts his head and gives Sokka a small, crooked grin.

“Sorry that you lost all your personal space,” he says.

“Never had much anyway,” Sokka replies. He’s going for flippant but doesn’t think that he pulls it off the way he’d like. Surely everyone in the gym can hear his heartbeat like the pounding of the matsuri drums, feel the sudden heat coming off his body like a furnace. Zuko doesn’t seem to notice and gives up on adjusting Flareon in any way that allows him to move, just fidgets until he’s right back where he started, nestled up against Sokka’s side underneath his arm. 

He goes back to watching the tv.

There’s a burning line of contact that spreads down from where Sokka’s got his arm over Zuko’s shoulder, down where they’re pressed up side to side, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. How does he not feel it? How can he look so comfortable when Sokka feels like his heart is about to fly out of his body?

He can’t move, even if he wanted to. There’s not a force on the planet that could make him break that contact.

An earthquake, maybe. Vulca’s a volcanic island, surely they have earthquakes.

Any minute the room will shake and the spell will snap, and Sokka’s going to have to explain himself.

Any minute.

Any minute.

It never comes.

Sokka stops waiting for the earthquake and his heart slows, and he stops waiting for Zuko to snap out of it and realize what’s happening, to realize that Sokka’s thumb is brushing light sweeping patterns over the back of his neck just because, because this can’t possibly be happening. This can’t possibly be okay. Sokka only ever falls for people he _can’t have_. 

Sokka only tends to fall for the unattainable, but it’s funny.

It’s funny because right here, right now, pressed against his body and stamped into Sokka’s heart and making vague commentary on bread, Zuko doesn’t feel unattainable at all.

* * *


End file.
